


Some Boys

by ArcadeSummers



Series: Somewhere Down That Road [2]
Category: My Own Private Idaho (1991)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Author is only capable of writing angst, Delicate sensuality, Inspired by Music, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, They deserved better, Timeline What Timeline, if that's even a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 17:08:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19155382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcadeSummers/pseuds/ArcadeSummers
Summary: Scott motioned for Mike to look inside his expansive closet that contained everything from posh dress shirts and slacks to more casual denim and t-shirts for lounging in. He spotted some flannel sleep shorts folded neatly atop a small chest of drawers behind Scott’s other belongings and reached for them before sifting through the overwhelming array of hung apparel. Scott turned away and made for the bed, deciding to properly arrange his pillows and straighten the duvet while Mike browsed.Mike finally settled on an old grey tee that looked like it hadn’t seen use for eons. Perfect. Upon closer inspection, he saw a flash of leather in the very back of Scott’s closet. Mike looked over his shoulder to Scott, who was still busily readying the bed, and then back at his discovery. It was the same jacket that Scott wore during his days as a drifter; weather-worn, well-loved and equal parts distressed from use. It had seen so much during its lifetime; laughter and tears alike, and held so many memories of a time that Scott had been desperately trying to escape until now. Mike allowed himself the chance to run his fingers along the arm of it and he suddenly felt like crying. Again. Of course.





	Some Boys

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing for this fandom yet again because the ideas keep coming to me like lightning and I'm really enjoying myself! I got some positive feedback on my previous Scott/Mike fic and wrote this one as a sort of follow-up to it. It's different enough to be read on its own, however, with only a few nods to my previous work. Like the fic before it, this piece is also inspired by music: Mirror Talk's "Some Boys," for which it is named.  
> I always strive to keep character interactions authentic and as close to the source material as possible, but I apologize if it appears as though I've gotten carried away. This is my first time writing M-rated content on my own, but I definitely want to experiment more with these concepts and become more confident in my ability to write them.
> 
> Enjoy!

_Light of my life, soul to my soul_  
_I wanna do it again_  
_The miracle drives we take to remind_  
_We're not alone_  
_No, we're not alone_  
_Light of my life, the tie of the rope_  
_Returns to where it began_  
_We bury our souls so head strong and cold,_  
_Please stop by me, when I hit the road_

 

 

Mike woke with a start as the car came to an abrupt stop at the middle of an intersection. His eyes pinched open and closed with the last fading remnants of sleep before chancing a glance to his left.

Scott.

Oh, that’s right.

Vague recollection called to mind a conversation he’d been having with Scott, who insisted that under no circumstances was he allowing Mike to meander on and be left to his own devices in the middle of nowhere. Mike would’ve been touched by the gesture, had he any remaining faith in Scott’s promises to begin with. How bored must Scott have been to go looking for him in the first place?

 

“Hey, sorry about that, man. This guy’s been riding my ass for miles and I’m done fooling around,” Scott said with a forced chuckle for emphasis, “Don’t suppose you have any idea where we are, huh?”

 

“Not a clue,” Mike responded, shuffling even closer to the door, with his gaze fixated on the window and at everything that wasn’t Scott’s face. The language wasn’t easily lost on Scott, who silently cursed himself for feeling the slightest bit dejected. He knew that he had no right and that Mike was deserving of his reservations about Scott’s behavior; though, it didn’t at all stop him from sulking inwardly. Mike was like a skittish animal right now and it would take time for him to trust again. Patience.

 

Scott cleared his throat after a beat, “Yeah, yeah I bet you wouldn’t know this area. We’re heading to my place even if it’s only for a little while.” Scott’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as he chanced a glance in Mike’s direction. Now  _that_  got his attention.

 

Mike’s eyes grew impossibly large as saucers in surprise at the implication. He’d never so much as stepped foot on Scott’s property, much less been allowed inside his home. If Scott had ever so much as suggested to his father having a person like Mike enter their home, it would’ve been his last. But then again, that was another life in another time long behind them. All Mike could think about was what wrongdoing Scott had gotten himself into to feel the need for atonement.

 

“Look, Scott... I know you feel like shit, but — but this is a little much, don’t y’think? I don’t need—“

“Mike, you’re so thin I can see through you and you haven’t bathed in days, if not weeks. You’re in no position to tell me what you don’t need,”

“I don’t need—!”

“ _Mike!”_

“I’m not hungry, man!”

“Mike, I swear to God, you’re gonna be eating your  _words_ when you finally realize just how badly you’ve let yourself go to hell,”

 

Scott wished he could retract his words the moment they left his lips because the look on Mike’s face wailed thunderous chords all on their own. Mike turned from Scott once again and rested his cheek against the windowpane, eyes downcast.

Scott bit his cheek and clenched the steering wheel. Why did his words always turn to ash in his mouth? Why was it always Mike bearing the brunt of it? He knew that Mike’s undoing was not of his own accord; he was defenseless and desperate, made even more so by Scott’s negligence. Mike never had the same opportunities that Scott did. Scott knew what hunger looked like, but never what it  _felt_  like; not really, and certainly not now when eyeing up his downtrodden friend. Mike was all tired eyes, haggard skin, and brittle hair. Whose fault was that?

 

This was going to be one hell of a night.

 

///

 

The tree-lined streets came into view as Mike awoke for the second time with a yawn and pop of his neck, which was loud enough to send Scott visibly wincing.

 

“Glad to see you could join the living. We’re here now.” Scott chirped as he pulled through a long driveway. Mike scrabbled at his eyes to form a clearer view of his surroundings. Never in his short twenty years had he seen a more stately home than that of Scott Favor’s. Floral hedges encompassed the land and added splashes of color to a lawn large enough to contain a gazebo. It was every bit the picture-perfect splendor that Mike imagined it would be, and no expense spared in favor of ensuring it was kept that way. The car came to a stop and Scott sighed when Mike said nothing.

 

“Listen, I’m sorry for snapping at you but I’m not sorry for bringing you here. I know that it’s not what you want, but it’s what you  _need_ at least for right now... Think you can humor me for a night, Mikey?” Scott spoke in quiet, even tones in an attempt to quell Mike’s fear.

 

“Yeah... yeah, just for a few hours or—or yeah, if I don’t pass out on you or—“

Mike’s hands were trembling in his lap and Scott reached for them with a stable press of his own against his cold flesh, running a hand along his forearm in what he hoped would be a soothing gesture. Mike avoided his gaze with all the effort he could muster. He was tired of Scott always seeing him this way; tired of simultaneously being the object of Scott’s affection and scorn. He wished his hands weren’t so damn cold; he wished Scott’s hands weren’t so damn warm.

 

“I know I’m asking a lot of you, Mike, but I did say you could spend the night... you don’t have to; I’m not gonna hold you against your will, but I need you to know that you can.” Scott paused his movements when Mike’s eyes met his, studying him for a few long moments before relenting. Mike wasn’t the most reliable judgment of character, but he wanted desperately to believe Scott’s sincerity no matter how superficial it was and no matter how upset he was with him. After a lifetime of chasing ghosts, Scott was still the most tangible part of it that hadn’t yet completely vanished into thin air.

 

“Okay... yeah, all right, Scotty. If you insist, I mean, it must get awfully lonely here with just you and those weed whackers at all hours of the day,” Mike managed a laugh that surprised Scott into a nervous fit of laughter of his own. It almost felt normal.  _Almost_.

 

The two exited the car and Scott waved his arm to Mike in the direction of the front entrance. Upon entering, Mike’s caught the scent of fresh lemon in the air tinged with — what was it? Lavender? An aroma unfamiliar to him, but comforting all the same. It reminded him faintly of the old perfume that Jane would spray on his pillow to help him sleep when he was still growing accustomed to the derelict apartment he shared with the other wayward street kids.

 

“And this is it, my friend! Mi casa es tu casa,” Scott laughed as if it were the most natural thing in the world and as though Mike, too, were used to being greeted with the view of granite counter tops and opulent lighting fixtures adorning a person’s living quarters. Mike stepped tentatively around the home as Scott led him through it, as though he were afraid to soil anything just by looking at it.

Scott led him to a kitchen with barstool seating and pulled the chair out for him before walking around the island to the largest refrigerator that Mike had ever seen. When he and Scott had been living in the abandoned apartment building with everyone else, they were lucky if they could ever find space of their own within the single mini fridge they shared with umpteen other people.

 

“Hey, Scott, uh, where should I put my jacket?” Mike moved to stand from the chair and removed his jacket that he held a far enough distance from the table in fear of contaminating it. Scott pulled a few containers from the fridge before facing Mike with a frown.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I just—I didn’t wanna, you know, make a mess or anything.”

“Nah, it’s no big deal. I can just throw your laundry in with mine and I’ll get to it later. You can just set it on the floor there.” Scott waved his hand and turned back to the countertop and containers which contained God-knows-what. Mike’s eyebrows rose considerably at this, and with a shrug, dropped his jacket where he stood before reclaiming his seat.

“Uh, Scott? Don’t you have someone else who could fix food or do laundry? You’ve been driving for hours, man,” Scott paused at this and looked at the wall clock which read about five forty-five. Truthfully, he was pretty exhausted, himself — and of course he could get the housekeeper to cook and clean if he so chose — but this situation demanded that  _he_  take accountability for his decisions. Nothing mattered to him beyond Mike’s comfort at that point, and if it cost him sleep and sanity to ensure it, that was a price that he was readily willing to pay. How much had Mike sold of himself for a meal in his stomach or clothes on his back? Scott wasn’t sure that was an answer he wanted to know.

 

“It’s all good, Mike. I do have a housekeeper who stops in from time to time to see to the place, but this is no sweat off my brow.” With a shrug, Scott turned to face Mike with a plate in-hand that he placed before Mike with a glass of milk and separate glass of water. A turkey & hummus sandwich filled generously with greens. Simple.

Scott took a seat beside Mike and rested his arms on the table. “Well? Eat up, pal. You need your energy, especially if you don’t plan on sticking around, you know?”

Mike met his eyes before refocusing on his meal and tentatively raising it to lips. He chanced a small bite, testing its palatability, before instinct overrode all inhibitions. Mike found himself scarfing ravenously at the food like never before until a miscalculated swallow left him coughing and gasping for air. He dropped the sandwich and gripped the table edge, doubling over.

 

“Mike, slow down! You gotta drink something. Here,” Scott threw an arm around Mike’s shoulder and pushed the glass of milk to him with the other, which Mike took and promptly threw back with vigor until the coughs receded. Scott patted his shoulder a few times, ensuring that Mike found himself, before allowing a chuckle. “Did you even taste the damn thing, man? Geeze! I told you that you’d live to eat your words,” Scott withdrew his arm and surveyed Mike’s face, which too looked all at once both sheepish yet good-spirited. He laughed, “Well what took you so long, ya big jerk?”

“I hadn’t expected you to forget how to eat, Mike, so excuse  _me_!”

“Scott, you wouldn’t last a week alone out in the desert and you know it!”

“Ha! Maybe you’re right, Mikey.”

“Tch, yeah, imagine the headlines,”

To this, Scott smirked and threw his arms outward as if framing an imaginary scene.

“‘Beautiful man victimized by desert mirages; God wins,’”

“You’re a whole dumbass, Scott. Don’t drink the sand!” Mike chuckled and playfully punched Scott in the shoulder before resuming his meal; slower this time.

 

Scott gave him a lopsided grin before rising from his seat and patting his back. “I’m gonna go run a bath for you while it’s still early.”

Mike turned around in his chair and grabbed Scott’s arm, “You don’t have to do that for me; I’m fine. You’ve already done enough as it is.” Mike frowned and Scott sighed inwardly, facing Mike with his hands on his shoulders, and spoke evenly as though he were speaking to a petulant child, “I already told you that you can drop the act for one night, Michael. You haven’t cleaned yourself up in ages and you gotta get out of those ratty old clothes before they become a part of you permanently,”

Michael.

Scott never called him that unless he was positively exasperated with him, but at this point, Mike could hardly blame him. Maybe he  _should_  just humor Scott for tonight. Just this once. Just this once and never again, if he so chose. Finally, Mike nodded and allowed Scott to make his way up the stairs to God-knows-where. If he were being completely honest with himself, a bath  _did_  sound kind of nice right about now. Mike rested his cheek in his palm on the table and drank down his few remaining sips of water. Yeah, a bath would be nice.

 

Scott ran the water to the perfect warmth before filling the tub with a Jasmine-scented soap. He loosened his shoulders and exhaled. What in the hell was he doing, exactly? What did he hope to gain from these emotional gymnastics? All he knew was that Mike always had a look on his face that didn’t belong there; had these blue eyes that reflected fear when faced with the enormity of a world that wasn’t willing to embrace someone as damaged as him. Society isn’t kind to people who exist within its margins, and the irony being was that Scott couldn’t even empathize and probably never would. What was it like having no parents to fear for your safety, or a nervous disorder that stripped you of all bodily agency at random?

What was it like having a friend who leaves you for momentary pleasure?

What was it like to be in  _love_?

“Fuck,” Scott mutters under his breath, bracing himself against the tub before rising to his feet and rubbing his eyes.

He gave himself a moment to regain his composure before making his way back downstairs. Now was not the time to fall to pieces. Not yet, at least.

 

Scott led Mike up the stairs and back to the bathroom that now smelled entirely of the fragrant Jasmine bath water. Warm, slightly humid, perfectly comfortable and more than accommodating. A bath robe hung on a wall hook meant for his convenience. “So, you think you’ll be okay for a while?” Scott asked, placing a bath mat down on the floor beside the tub for Mike to step out on. “Yeah, I think I’m all right now. Thanks for going to the trouble for all this. It’s nice,” Scott grinned widely, pleased with himself but even more so that Mike was coming around to his kind gestures and coaxing. He faced the door to leave but stopped just short.

“Hey, uh, Mike? Leave the door unlocked. I don’t wanna have to explain to the feds why there’s a street walker in my tub if you decide to hit the snooze button, you hear?” Mike rolled his eyes and smacked Scott lightly on his shoulder for emphasis. “Yeah, yeah,  _mother hen._  I’ll behave myself. Now get your ass out of here, will you? I know how to bathe, and you’ve done enough as it is,” Scott smiled and shrugged before exiting the bathroom and leaving Mike where he stood.

 

“Well, might as well get to it.” Mike began peeling back each piece of clothing and tossing them to the side in a heap. He stopped in front of the mirror, a large framed centerpiece of glass off to his left. It had been so long since he actually saw his reflection, but mostly because he intentionally tried to avoid it. He knew how he looked; knew that he looked like he’d be chewed up and spat out ten times over — and felt twice as worse, but it had long become second-nature to either adapt or dissolve. His hair had thinned a bit and his skin would’ve taken on a far more intense pallor had it not been for the sunburn and dirt that soiled him, instead.

Oh, right.

A bath.

 

Mike tentatively stepped into the tub, full to the brim with bubbles, before gradually lowering himself downward into its warmth. He leaned his head against the wall and allowed himself to be enveloped in the heat of the water before bringing himself to cloth-scrub his arms and legs. The bathtub was large; easily the largest he’d ever had the pleasure of being in, so he wanted to savor the moment while it lasted. Even as the water gradually soiled into a dingy brown from the dirt, Mike couldn’t bring himself to care. Nothing was filthy if it belonged to Scott. Mike dunked his head below the surface and wet his hair, pushing it out of his eyes and sighing a deep breath before relaxing his head against the wall again. Just what exactly was his angle? It was eating Mike up from the inside-out. For weeks, all he could think about was what possessed Scott to turn on him so suddenly. Part of him knew; he knew that Scott’s days as a drifter were limited, but never did he think that he would be abandoned like this. Carmella had been a kind girl and regardless of Mike’s feelings about Scott’s behavior, he couldn’t bring himself to hate her. After all, he was almost certain she’d been as much a victim of Scott’s deviance as he was; no doubt ashamed of her own behavior when she realized the ploy on Scott’s behalf, and returned home to Italy.

 

A deep sense of unease made its way into Mike’s stomach and hardened like stone, chilling him from within. He wrapped his arms around himself and shuddered with it, bowing his head and allowing tears to escape his eyes. He sniffed miserably, silently cursing himself for allowing Scott to reel him in again so easily. Mike was tired of being treated like a broken thing; tired of having hopes built so high only to have the rug pulled out from beneath him. Most of all, he was confused and fearful. For the longest time, all he ever thought he wanted was Scott or his mother; a stable presence to reassure him that his existence wasn’t some drain on the world — that he wasn’t just another one of nature’s failures. She never loved him, he decided. How can you truly love someone without the fear of losing them?

 

A knock at the door. Mike choked on a sob and started at the noise, but didn’t offer a response.

“Mike? You all right in there, pal?”

No response. Mike scrubbed at his eyes and faced the wall away from the door, rubbing a hand along his neck. His shoulders shook as he willed himself to remain silent. The last thing he wanted was Scott seeing him in this state yet again. He wasn’t prepared for the humiliation or Scott’s heroics, if he were being honest.

“Hey, uh, can you hear me?  _Mikey_?”

Scott’s voice sounded a bit further away than usual, and Mike blinked through a haze, limbs trembling.

Not here. No.

Not fucking  _here_ , dammit.

Mike’s head slid from the tile and into the water. It was lights out.

“Alright, well, I can’t hear you and you’re starting to scare me, Mike, so I’m coming in. Okay?”

Scott turned the handle and entered the bathroom, but saw no sign of Mike. A panic rose in his chest that stole all the air from his lungs at once. Scott made a bee-line for the bathtub and dropped to his knees in his haste. He reached into the tub to grasp at Mike’s shoulders and torso, heaving him up against the wall and drenching the pristine floor.

 

“Hey, hey, Mike—Mike! Hey, it’s all right, Mike, it’s—can you hear me? Mike, God—“ Scott frantically moved the hair from Mike’s face and checked his neck for a pulse. Still beating. Alive. Good.

Scott supported Mike upright and braced his chest with his opposite hand.

“Mike, please—come on, man, wake up! Wake up for me, Mike, I—I know I’ve been the biggest asshole to you, the biggest to end all assholes, but for Christ’s sake—“

“Lower the volume, will you— _cough—_ please?”

“Mike?!”

“ _Cough—_ Speaking,”

“Jesus Christ on the cross, you  _idiot_ , I ought to kill you, myself! Why didn’t you answer me the first time?”

“Maybe I was already in the process of dying,”

“Something tells me that I don’t think you were,”

“You always gotta ruin everything, Scotty,”

“Shut up, Mike—fuck, man, I’m just glad you’re here. Maybe there’s mercy in hell, after all?”

“We’ve been there and back a few times, I guess. We would know, wouldn’t we?”

Scott snorted at that, and Mike offered him the ghost of a grin. “You’re soaking wet, man,” Mike couldn’t help but chuckle at Scott’s misfortune. That shirt and pants probably cost more than every piece of clothing Mike had ever owned altogether.

“No thanks to someone’s cloak-and-dagger disappearing act. Are you gonna tell me what got you so wound up, or not?”

Mike’s face fell and that gave Scott all the answers he needed. It wouldn’t pay to push Mike if he wasn’t yet ready to talk.

“Okay... yeah. Alright, Mikey, suit yourself. I’ll leave you to dry off and then we can get ready for bed. Sound good?” Mike nodded, “Yeah, that sounds good to me. Thanks,”

Scott managed a small smile before rising to his feet and making his way to the door. He stopped short of exiting before turning around to Mike, whose face was downcast into the water.

“Oh, and uh, Mike? One more thing,”

Scott returned to Mike in slow strides, kneeling back down until he was eye-level with his friend, before pulling Mike into the strongest embrace he could muster in their position. Mike visibly tensed but relaxed and allowed him to continue, “I  _am_  glad that you’re here and I’m thankful that you’re all right.” Scott’s voice was more breath than words against his wet hair, and Mike felt more than heard them in his exhaustion. Scott got up and once again made his way to the door, exiting this time, leaving Mike to finish.

 

After Mike had toweled off and was fully-robed, he exited the bathroom and looked both ways down the hall. A light was coming from one of the rooms to his left, so he naturally assumed that’s where Scott was. Mike knocked thrice before Scott answered, “Come on in,”

Mike entered, closing the door behind him.

“Your clothes still need to be laundered, so for right now, you can just throw on something of mine until we get you sorted out. You can help yourself to whatever...” Scott motioned for Mike to look inside his expansive closet that contained everything from posh dress shirts and slacks to more casual denim and t-shirts for lounging in. He spotted some flannel sleep shorts folded neatly atop a small chest of drawers behind Scott’s other belongings and reached for them before sifting through the overwhelming array of hung apparel. Scott turned away and made for the bed, deciding to properly arrange his pillows and straighten the duvet while Mike browsed.

Mike finally settled on an old grey tee that looked like it hadn’t seen use for eons. Perfect. Upon closer inspection, he saw a flash of leather in the very back of Scott’s closet. Mike looked over his shoulder to Scott, who was still busily readying the bed, and then back at his discovery. It was the same jacket that Scott wore during his days as a drifter; weather-worn, well-loved and equal parts distressed from use. It had seen so much during the its lifetime; laughter and tears alike, and held so many memories of a time that Scott had been desperately trying to escape until now. It was a wonder why he never just rid himself of the damn thing and be done with it. Mike allowed himself the chance to run his fingers along the arm of it and he suddenly felt like crying. Again. Of course.

 

“Find something that’ll suit ya, Mikey?” Scott’s voice shook Mike from his reverie as he approached him from behind. “Yeah, these’ll do just fine. I’ll go ahead and change, then.”

Scott nodded and turned away, allowing Mike his space, as he too changed into his own sleepwear.

“I have plenty of spare rooms for you to sleep in, if you prefer, but I figured you probably wouldn’t wanna be by yourself in a strange place. We can just share my bed if that’s cool with you,” Scott nodded toward his own bed which was, indeed, more than accommodating for two people. Mike shrugged with an exaggeration that Scott swore he could hear before making his way to the left side and sitting down. It was soft, impossibly so, and Mike hated how eager he was to crawl into it. “This is great, Scotty, and thanks,” Scott gave a curt nod before taking his place on the right side, lifting the covers, and sliding in. Mike followed suit and Scott reached to turn off the nightstand lamp.

“G’night, Mike, and let me know if you need anything.”

“Y-yeah, goodnight to you, too, Scott.”

Mike lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, stock-still. As comfortable as he was and with enough room to move about without disturbing Scott, nothing felt more deeply unsettling than all of the unspoken words between them. Mike pinched his eyes closed and opened them in the darkness, turning his head toward the closet, fixated on the idea of Scott’s jacket. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Scotty? You still awake?”

“Hmm...? What’s up, Mike?”

“Uh... I, uh, couldn’t help but notice, you know. In your closet...”

“What about it?”

Mike tensed and made doubly sure to avoid Scott, who had already shifted to face him in the darkness, save for the fraction of moonlight filtering in from the window.

“You still have it. The jacket, you know, that you used to wear. The old leather one... you never went anywhere without it. I was wondering why you still kept it after all this time.”

Mike lifted a hand to his mouth as if he could will the words back into it. They sounded pitiful, even for him, and he wasn’t even sure what he expected Scott to say, anyway.

Scott audibly swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat before clearing it casually. An eternity passed within minutes before Scott replied, shakily himself,

“You remember when we were driving in the desert? Remember when I couldn’t get the damn bike to turn over and we had to call it quits for the night?”

Mike did turn to face him at that because he couldn’t believe his own ears. It was a silent agreement that they’d never again bring up the subject of that evening. That was, until now.

“Yeah... yeah, I remember that night.”

“You once told me then that you—that you wanted to be  _close_  to me and to talk with me; to—to  _really_ talk with me.”

Mike’s breath caught in his throat, unsteadily; fingers twitching reflexively.

“Yeah... I guess I did say that, huh?”

Scott slid closer to Mike with measured caution, arm outstretched toward him, but still.

“You know why I kept that jacket?”

Scott’s voice was all breath, an octave above a whisper. Mike lay on his side, facing Scott, too, with his hand not quite reaching his.

“No clue, Scotty... not a single fucking clue.”

Scott laughed openly at this before remembering himself, “It’s because... maybe it’s because it was the only way for me to—to make that moment last forever,”

It sounded disgusting even to his own ears and he wouldn’t have blamed Mike for turning on his heels from him forever for it, but Mike could only laugh, too; a choked thing that would’ve broken Scott’s heart even more if the pieces hadn’t already cracked and split a hundred times over from seeing Mike’s immobile body on the side of the road, alone.

 

Scott reached for Mike’s hand and brought it to his own cheek within the crevice of his jaw and neck, and wept alongside him. Mike shifted closer to Scott, forehead to forehead, and slid the hand that Scott held through his dark hair. He’d forgotten how soft it was, it had been so long. They moved until there was no longer any distance between them, and Mike trailed a hand rhythmically up and down along Scott’s side before resting it on his hip. Scott’s arms wound their way around Mike’s torso and pulled him upright into focus until he could see his countenance in the meager light. Even in the dark, his eyes were piercing, searching, for any sign of betrayal. There was still far too much room for doubt in the rift between them.

“So, Mike... do you still want to talk with me?”

Mike centered his forearms on Scott’s chest, sliding them up to wind around his neck.

“N—no, I don’t think I’ve got anything, Scotty, but... nah, not anything that I can say with words, at least. I’m no good at talking.”

Scott paused and allowed the weight of Mike’s words to settle within him like a scar; the kind that ached when it rains. He moved his hands from their resting place against Mike’s back until they wandered past the valley of his shoulder blades, through the thicket of his still-damp hair, and to his cheeks. Scott circled a compassionate thumb against his cheekbone, then to his eye that still contained traces of tears he wished that Mike never shed. Mike was beautiful; his body a roadmap that Scott wanted to learn until it was as natural as coming home. Maybe that’s just what Mike was; like warmth and familiarity. Mike felt like home.

“Scott?”

“What is it, Mikey?”

“I don’t—I don’t want to talk with you, but I... I still want to be close to you.”

Scott grinned the grin of the damned at this, despite himself. He couldn’t help it.

“You do?”

“Yeah, I do.. I always wanna be, you know... close to you,” Mike’s breath hitched when Scott pulled his face down further, if it were even possible, until their foreheads touched once again.

“Is this close enough, Mike?”

Scott felt Mike’s labored breath on his lips, so close he could practically taste it.

“No, no it’s not,” Mike did choke, then, when he felt Scott’s lips meet his own. It felt like falling on stable ground; like a deflation of all the air trapped in his lungs from the breath he held.

 

Mike accepted Scott’s advances with fervor; releasing his hands from their entrapment between his chest and Scott’s, and finding his face instead. Scott’s arm wound around Mike to press his hand against the small of his back, the other wedging itself between their bodies to slide rhythmically against the hot flesh of his rib cage. Mike’s lips were impossibly chapped, but Scott wouldn’t have had them any other way. Scott broke the kiss to maneuver Mike onto his back, leaning over him, before diving back down to leave a trail of kisses from his jaw to his collarbone. Mike’s strained breaths were cut off by a whine ripped from his throat that surprised even himself, but especially Scott who was only that much more unraveled by it. Scott leaned up on his knees to hike up Mike’s shirt, a silent invitation, to which Mike all-too-readily consented. Scott removed his own t-shirt and tossed it aside haphazardly in his eagerness and fell forward again until there was no space between them. Mike had never felt so trapped within his own skin; a heat so warm he could burn from it. Scott resumed his ministrations against Mike’s neck; memorizing the taste and feel of him in case this were the last time he’d ever hold him this closely. Mike arched his neck to the side and grasped Scott’s hand, moving it to his chest. Scott moved his fingers experimentally around Mike’s chest before realizing what he must’ve wanted. He circled his thumb around Mike’s nipple once, twice, and Mike gasped; his hand flying to his mouth to stifle his cries, and something in Scott ached at the sight. He’d been coupled with Mike in bed plenty of times at the whim of johns, but before now, he never truly took note of how little Mike asked for or how little he desired what was going on around him. Sex had always been something that was done  _to_  him as an unwilling participant for the sake of survival, and few people would be swayed to pay any mind to partner up with someone who worked as he did. Scott ran a hand through Mike’s hair, held his cheek in his hand, and whispered, “Hey, hey now, Mikey... it’s all right. You’re all right. Do you trust me? Can you trust me to see this through?”

Mike held his eyes shut for all it was worth before relenting and lowering his hand from his mouth back down to the bed sheets, clinging to them for dear life.

He swallowed the ball of tension that rose in his throat and found his voice, “Yeah, I—I trust you, Scott. I know you won’t hurt me, it’s just—“

“But I  _have_ , Mike... I’ve hurt you so badly I’m surprised you haven’t run for the hills the first chance you’ve gotten tonight.”

Mike’s lip quivered as he pulled Scott down on top of him, chest-to-chest. Scott lay his head against Mike’s shoulder and exhaled.

“We’re a mess, aren’t we?” Mike laughed, actually  _laughed_  in the face of all their misery.

“Heh, you can say that again, man. We make quite a team.”

 

Scott draped an arm over Mike’s back and trailed his hand in soothing circles over his skin. They were both beat to hell in different ways, he supposed.

“I did mean what I said before in the desert, Scott... I think I still do. I do love you,” Scott stilled and studied Mike’s face as well as he could in the dimness of the room.

“You don’t have to feel the same. You don’t have to force yourself to mean any more than you already do to me.”

“Mike, I’m not... I’m not gonna lie to you. I don’t know if what I feel is true love, because I’ve been wrong before, but... I do like the way you look in my clothes even if they are way too damn big for your scrawny ass. The way you snore when you sleep? Shit’s disgusting, man, can’t stand that, but—but it lets me know that you’re still alive. It lets me know that you’re still here with me,” Mike grinned widely and shoved at Scott’s chest until they were both laughing like kids. 

“Hey, hey! Watch the face, Waters!”

“Aww, is little Scotty Favor afraid of a few boo-boos?”

“Last I checked, you were pretty fond of my face, asshole! A picture’s worth a thousand words, you know, and would last longer.”

“There’s only one problem with that, Scotty,”

Scott held Mike’s wrists, pinning them above his head with the most shit-eating grin he could manage.

“And what’s that, Waters?”

“I don’t wanna have to write ‘I love you’ a thousand times,”

 

Idiots. 

 


End file.
